


salt & silk

by sternfleck



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Armitage Hux in Lingerie, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Hand & Finger Kink, Honeymoon, Hux's lingerie gets ruined, M/M, Married Sex, Neck Kissing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Armitage Hux, Praise Kink, Service Top Ben Solo, Soft Kylux, Soft but Filthy, soulmates a lil bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternfleck/pseuds/sternfleck
Summary: “Eager,” Ben murmurs into Armitage’s neck, nipping below his ear. Teasing him.As if Armitage doesn’t have the absolute right to wrap himself around Ben and tremble at his every touch, on this, their honeymoon. They’ve barely made it out of bed for the week they’ve spent here on this chilly, rock-strewn coast, and not all of that distraction is Armitage’s fault. If he’s eager, he’s not the only one.-On their honeymoon by the Pacific, Armitage and Ben have luxurious, possessive, messy sex, along with soft emotions about their love for each other.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 147





	salt & silk

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [salt air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814932) by [surrenderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer). 



> surrenderer: “Here’s the softest, most loving grown-up BenArmie seaside honeymoon AU for you to read as you fall asleep.”
> 
> Me: “You’re incredible. I love it. Now I’m going to make them fuck.”
> 
> -
> 
> Apologies, but also, you’re welcome.

The sun is on its descent over the cold Pacific. But around the rickety beach house Armitage has chosen for their honeymoon, the fog has rolled in from the sea so thickly that the sunset casts only a dim glow through the windows above the carved cedarwood bed. The bedroom is washed in its pearly golden light, and in that light, no one has ever looked so beautiful as Ben does now.

Ben studies Armitage with matching fascination, from where he rests above him on hands and knees. His body surrounds Armitage like a canopy—warm even at a distance, sculpted, speckled. All that smooth beautiful skin, bruised in the best spots from Armitage’s kisses. The admiring gleam in Ben’s eyes, and the half-shy quirk of his mouth when he catches the way Armitage is drinking him in.

Ben’s dark hair isn’t as long now as it was when they met, though it’s still long enough for Armitage to fist his hands in it and pull Ben down on top of him, strong thigh between Armitage’s soft ones. As always, the weight of Ben’s body sets Armitage at ease and winds him up at the same time. It presses the air from his chest when he lifts his hips to rub against Ben.

“Eager,” Ben murmurs into Armitage’s neck, nipping below his ear. Teasing him.

As if Armitage doesn’t have the absolute right to wrap himself around Ben and tremble at his every touch, on this, their honeymoon. They’ve barely made it out of bed for the week they’ve spent here on this chilly, rock-strewn coast, and not all of that distraction is Armitage’s fault. If he’s eager, he’s not the only one.

“You’re as hard as I am,” Armitage points out, trailing his hand down between them, over his silk-covered stomach, to give the head of Ben’s erection a rough nudge with the back of his hand. “What do you expect to do with that big thing if I’m _not_ eager for you? Incorrigible. I’m hardly the one to take all the blame.” 

When Armitage cuffs him through his underwear, Ben’s mouth falls open in a gasp, and his hips fall too, until his cock rests heavy against Armitage’s belly, firm and hot and so wonderfully large.

“I blame you anyway.” Ben’s mouth is on Armitage’s jaw now, his breath on Armitage’s cheek. “Dressing up for me like this. Even though you get cold in your little clothes and I have to warm you up. So pretty, look at you. You’re going to make me come so hard. Fill you up with it. You want that?” He rolls his hips, tugging down his underwear until his cock slips free and presses even more solidly against Armitage’s stomach. “You want me to come inside you?”

Fuck. Ben _is_ eager, whatever he says about Armitage. Downright needy. But his words make it impossible for Armitage to feign dignified detachment. His legs are already opening, his chest rising and falling heavily under Ben’s. 

“Go on,” Armitage hears himself say, as if from a distance, over the sound of the waves on the shore outside. “Please, yes, do what you want with me.”

More often, Armitage is the one in charge when they’re in bed together, riding Ben, teasing him, giving instructions, making Ben’s eyes go hazy with praises and kisses. But Armitage hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep since well before the wedding. Ben, on the other hand, is fresh from oversleeping this morning while Armitage walked into town to grab supplies for dinner. He’s full of energy, strong and bright-eyed and ready to give everything to Armitage. For once, Armitage is prepared to surrender completely.

“I want everything from you.” Ben’s teeth close lightly around Armitage’s collarbone, like a threat— _give me all of you, you’re my husband now, mine_ —but he doesn’t bite hard enough to cause pain. Armitage gasps anyway. Squirms closer.

“Red silk,” Ben adds, sliding a hand up Armitage’s waist to graze his thumb across one pert nipple. “When did you even get this? Is this from London?”

“Tokyo.” Armitage bites back a whine. Tries to keep his voice steady as Ben sinks down onto his elbows and adds his other hand, stroking both of Armitage’s nipples through the silk.

This slip of wine-red silk, trimmed at the neckline with honeycombed lace, was a result of Armitage’s last trip for work before the wedding. Ben was jealous that he couldn’t come along, to pray in temples and see where his grandfather had trained as a kendōka after the war. Armitage reasoned that it would be some consolation if he picked up a few new pieces to wear for Ben on their honeymoon.

Ben has seen, and ruined, the grey chemise and matching lace-trimmed shorts. And two nights ago, on the daybed on the house’s screen porch, he brought Armitage off with his mouth while Armitage wore another Tokyo piece, a pale gauzy robe stamped all over with some unknown emblem in the shape of a hexagon.

But the red silk is new to Ben. Armitage dressed up while Ben was dismantling the chicken he’ll grill for dinner. When Ben returned to the bedroom, Armitage had arranged himself against the pillows with the full expectation that Ben would cover him like this and take him. He didn’t expect, however, to want it so much that he loses his composure entirely, going needy and limp in Ben’s arms.

“Tokyo,” Ben echoes in a voice rich with approval, as he leans back to slick his fingers with lube from the nightstand. “You planned for this. All the way back then. You’re strategic, Armie, clever. Yeah, hips up—you’re still wet from this morning. Perfect, so soft. Ready to take me. Look. I can put two fingers right inside you. Easy. Like you want me inside.”

 _I do want you,_ Armitage wants to say. But he can only knot his hands in the sheets and tip his hips higher until Ben’s fingers are close to grazing over his prostate. Just two of his fingers are thick enough to have Armitage going dizzy at the fullness inside him, even though Ben has fucked him often enough on this honeymoon that he’s relaxed enough to take him without significant preparation.

Armitage clenches around the fingers inside him, and Ben hums at him, dipping his head to nuzzle Armitage’s cheek.

“You’re not being bossy this time,” Ben observes, twisting his fingers to stroke Armitage where he knows it will make his breath hitch. “Are you too tired for this? I could let you get some rest. Wake you up for dinner on the beach.”

Armitage can’t imagine he’s very pretty when he hisses at Ben like this, but Ben always seems to appreciate it—since he never stops teasing Armitage when it’s obvious what Armitage wants and needs.

“I don’t need to _tell_ you to fuck me, surely.” Armitage’s voice is ragged, shot through with breathy sighs. “Please, Ben, look how I’ve dressed. I want you so badly I can’t think. Don’t make me give orders. Oh. More, God, your fingers are thick. That’s good. _Fuck_.” 

“Mmm. I like it when you tell me what to do, though. And you like it, too. You’ve made a wet spot.”

With his free hand, Ben follows the line of Armitage’s cock where it’s risen to aching hardness under the silk of his slip. He rubs his thumb in a circle over the head, wetting the fabric with pre-come. Sensitive, Armitage twitches away, but the movement only forces Ben’s fingers—three, now—deeper inside him.

“Aah, you’re going to _ruin_ me, Ben.” Armitage shuts his eyes tight, losing himself for a moment to the stretch and stroke of Ben’s fingers in his hole and across his dripping cock. 

Then Ben’s fingers still, and, with a lewd sound, he pulls out of Armitage entirely.

Armitage opens his eyes, eyebrows drawn, poised to take Ben gently to task for the sudden emptiness. But outside the window, light from the setting sun has cut through the fog. It streams into the room, dramatic, diffuse, staining Ben’s face a soft scarlet. His hair shines.

As he admires the sight, Armitage becomes aware of the smell of Ben all around him, the familiar salt of his sweat, the cypress fragrance of that overpriced shampoo he swears by. They should smell the same by now, after this many days of covering every inch of each other’s bodies with kisses and touches and come, but Ben still smells like Ben, and Armitage wants to drink in the smell of him, the taste of him, forever.

“I was going to fuck you,” Ben says, leaning up onto his knees. “But I got distracted. You’re so fucking pretty, Armie. Are you even real? How did I get you to want to marry me?”

“Of course I’m real.” Armitage’s smile is still rare and unpractised, but it gets the most use around Ben. “And I’ve made myself pretty so that you’ll fuck me, if you please. Stay on task.”

It’s a gentle admonition, accompanied with a stroke of a finger down Ben’s lovely nose. Armitage is still hard enough that the wet spot on his slip is spreading. He tugs the slip higher to show how his cock lies against his belly, pink and dripping, smaller than Ben’s, chunky, and, at least in Ben’s words, “the prettiest cock anywhere in the whole world—no, the whole galaxy.” If his lingerie is distracting Ben from fucking him, he’ll have to give Ben this view, as an enhanced incentive.

“We don’t have to hurry,” Ben points out, even as he slicks his cock with more lube from the nightstand. “I could sit here admiring you until it’s dark. Until the sun comes up again.”

“Mmm. You wouldn’t last,” Armitage warns. “You’d have your hands all over me the second I gave the command. Remember the wedding party?”

At the reception after the wedding, Ben had been dizzy off the cake and string lights and fraught family dynamics, and, mostly, off the promise that in mere hours, all the spectacle would be over and he would be with Armitage here, in their beachside holiday home. While he and Armitage were dancing, Ben’s cousin approached and started talking to him—rudely, as always—about her work in Uncle Luke’s new meditation program for conflict refugees. This would have been fine on its own—Armitage generally deals with Rey by ignoring her, a tactic which works well. But Ben seems incapable of ignoring Rey’s veiled criticisms of his career choices, which means his every conversation with her escalates into a fight.

In the end, Armitage solved the problem before it began, by letting one hand drift up Ben’s back to tangle in his dark hair. A sharp tug no one else could see, and Ben’s ears went pink, his attention all on Armitage again, intense and adoring, as if Rey never interrupted their dance.

“Good,” Armitage had whispered, leaning too close for anyone else to hear. “You know who’s yours. That’s my good boy.”

At the memory, Ben’s upper teeth sink into the edge of his plush lower lip. A shiver runs through his powerful body, like a stray breeze across deep still water.

The next second, he’s on Armitage, kissing him fiercely, lifting his hips with both hands, driving inside him without being careful at all. It’s exactly what Armitage likes, what he craves. Ben is heavy like this, heavier because he’s gripping Armitage’s shoulder with one hand and his hip with another, rutting into him like he was made for Ben to use for his pleasure. 

Every thrust punches a harsh moan out of Armitage’s chest. If he could speak, he’d praise Ben, profess his love, but he can only tilt his hips for Ben and reach up to tangle his hands in Ben’s tresses. Armitage tugs Ben’s hair, and spreads his legs wider for Ben to fuck him deeper. He’s Ben’s now, by law and by love, committed, claimed.

When he tries to clench around Ben’s cock, he’s so stretched that his hole only flutters weakly. He can’t do anything but let Ben fuck him. He’s taken Ben’s cock countless times, but never gets used to the sheer size of him, the way Ben makes him feel full in the right places, like his body is the complement to Armitage’s, perfectly designed. 

“I’m yours,” Ben hisses through his teeth. “You’re mine. Fuck, you’re so hot inside, open for me, so fucking soft, _please_. Give me your hand, need you—need your fingers—” 

Armitage strokes through Ben’s hair for a last time before bringing his left hand down to Ben’s cheek, to his mouth. He offers Ben the back of his hand to kiss, messy, as Ben thrusts into him hard enough to make the slow build in the pit of his stomach almost hurt with the pleasure there.

Carefully, Armitage extends his hand to slip his third and fourth finger past Ben’s lips. Nothing makes Ben come harder than having Armitage’s fingers in his mouth while Ben is fucking him, and Ben looks so pretty like this, too, lips wet and pink, eyelashes fluttering on his speckled cheeks, brows tilted with need.

He moans as Armitage’s fingers stroke the hot inside of his mouth, a moan that rises to a whine when Armitage wraps his legs fully around Ben, locking his ankles at the small of Ben’s back so Ben has no choice but to fuck him deep with every thrust.

“That’s what you like.” Armitage strokes through Ben’s hair with his free hand, and Ben moans around his fingers again, needy. Ben is close, his thrusts faltering, but he won’t come before Armitage. He’s too well-trained for that.

“When I say so,” says Armitage with authority, his mind clear now and free of all need for sleep, “you’re going to come inside me until I’m dripping with it. Then you’ll put your mouth on my cock and— _ah_ —swallow everything I give you, like a good boy. You will, yes?”

Ben nods, and Armitage’s fingers slip deeper. Ben’s throat flutters softly around his fingertips. His teeth—jagged pearls, perfect, _his_ —click against Armitage’s wedding ring. 

“Please.” Ben pulls back to speak, his words still messy around Armitage’s fingers. “Want you to come in my mouth. Want you. _Fuck_.” 

He’s so close, brows drawn together at the effort of holding back until Armitage gives permission to come inside him. Armitage can practically feel the desperation rolling out of Ben’s mind, as though Ben is sending his desires out into the air in waves. It would only take one press of Armitage’s finger to his tongue to make Ben fall apart, even without the order to do so.

At this, Armitage finds he’s closer than he expected. Ben’s need transmits and takes hold in him, and every movement of Ben’s cock inside him is designed to make him come. The coiled feeling in his stomach threatens to untwist and melt into pure heat and then—

Ben’s cry of pleasure is so close to Armitage’s fall over the edge that at first he’s not sure who has cried out. He’s coming, hot streaks over his own belly and chest and even his throat, and in the blazing darkness behind his eyes he barely has the presence of mind to pull Ben close and hiss without breath, “Come for me, good, _oh_ , Ben, _please_.” 

Armitage arches his back as Ben spills hot inside him, spurt after spurt. At the thought of all that come, Armitage feels altered, changed, wrecked and made perfect by all Ben’s lusts. He’s meant for this, for Ben, and Ben is his, only his. What Ben does to him is for no one else.

The breath leaves Armitage’s lungs as Ben’s weight lands on him, as Ben pulls out and leaves Armitage to drip all over the sheets. His lips are on Armitage’s neck, bruising and rough and so good. On top of him like this, Ben’s chest will be covered in Armitage’s come.

Too late, Armitage realises he’s made a mess by coming all over the front of his new silk slip. There are ways to launder it...but not now, not when Ben is kissing down his chest and sucking the come-soaked cloth into his mouth like it’s a treat to taste Armitage’s spend.

“You—you like it,” Armitage breathes, head still spinning from his orgasm. “Filthy—oh, you’re so—you’re mine, aren’t you? My Ben?”

Ben’s hair has spilled over his face, so that when he raises his eyes, their shadowed intensity makes Armitage want him ten times more, all over again. With come on his lips and all over his face, Ben looks ravenous. Bestial.

“Yours,” he vows, voice rough from moaning, before filling his mouth again with come and silk.

With the softness of his body and the sharpness of his words, Armitage has made Ben moan himself hoarse. The thrill of that—the power of it—may never feel commonplace. Armitage must have done something truly spectacular in a previous life to somehow win Ben, here, now.

That’s the sort of thought Ben’s been voicing lately, on their walks on the beach that more often turn to beachside cuddles in rock-strewn coves. Armitage scoffs at that line of thinking, since no one can prove or disprove the existence of past lives. But here—in the hazy aftermath of orgasm, when the fog outside is thickening and the sky has gone deep dusky blue and Ben has lowered his body to lie across Armitage’s chest where their heartbeats coincide—Armitage finds it easier to believe that the man above him has always been his.

There could never be anyone else.

“I love you,” Armitage says, because there’s nothing else to say. His sleepiness is returning, rolling in to cover him like the fog from the sea.

He’s not too sleepy, though, to snort fondly at the look of surprise on Ben’s face when he pulls back, lifts his great head to stare at Armitage. In Ben’s eyes there’s a softness that looks almost wounded, an uncertainty laced with want and hope and so much love it hurts.

Armitage has said those words to Ben a thousand times or more. He’s said them in bed and on the seashore, sent them to Ben in cheeky messages while they’re both at work, even written them down once, on the title page of a book on the Knights Templar he gave to Ben as a birthday gift. And yet Ben never gets used to this.

Even now that they’re married, Ben hasn’t begun to get used to it. He spreads his hand wide over Armitage’s messy, silk-covered chest, and looks down at him with those dark eyes, as though Armitage, with his words, has declared them both rulers over everything, earth and stars and sea.

When he kisses Armitage, deep and long, Ben’s kisses taste of salt.

**Author's Note:**

> [Surrenderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer)'s salt-verse encompasses three fics:
> 
> • her original [salt air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814932/chapters/62708974),
> 
> • my [kelp & salt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26125756),
> 
> • and now this fic, which is strongly influenced by one of her WIPs in this 'verse. So, if you like this AU, stick around—we're not done with it yet.
> 
> There's also my fic [Night Above Manhattan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074768), which, as surrenderer pointed out, could function as a sequel to the salt-verse fics, if you use your imagination.
> 
> -
> 
> If you want more of Hux in lingerie, you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sternfleck) or [tumblr](https://sternfleck.tumblr.com/).


End file.
